


Home can be anything, even a person

by Inferno_the_dragon_lord



Series: The missadventures of Malcolm Scar [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: First attempt at writing Ulysses, Fluff without Plot, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Titles, M/M, Rare Pairings, attempts at fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inferno_the_dragon_lord/pseuds/Inferno_the_dragon_lord
Summary: "Home isn't where you were born into this world, it is an idea, a place where you breath life into." Ulysses didn't look up from his work, stitching the old world flag Malcolm had found and given as a form of gift."You're very fond of preachin' about home Ulysses," Malcolm huffed, "Home and history." He sounded annoyed, however his arms tightened a bit around the other man's waist. "But, suppose I've grown used to it by now. Hell, even beginning to like it...Think they used to that call Stockholm syndrome." He chuckled when his conffesion caused the man to still. "Don't expect to hear it from me again.""I hold no expectations from you Cour--Malcolm." Enough venom wrought using the tittle, he won't cause more, not now."I'm curious, If home can be anything-" Malcolm rested his head on Ulysses shoulder, breath ghosting over his ear. "Can it also be a person?"





	Home can be anything, even a person

       Malcolm's footsteps were heavy as he walked swiftly through the cracked, never healing wound in the Divide. The Marked men were cautious to attack him, perhaps sensing that the man has gone through the Divide- had passed all of its challenges and come out on top, yet not unscathed- or merely scared. Didn't matter to him, they'd die either way if they crossed him. He was followed by a cyber-hound, who softly whined all the way trough the Divide. Rex whined, tail tucked between his robotic legs, however, he stuck close to his master. Seemed like he disliked the Divide just like the man did. "Relax boy," Malcolm grunted, as he came to a stop-

       Before promptly blasting a Marked man that had decided to attack him into oblivion, his minigun tearing the thing into shreds and his armour protecting him from any damage. This resulted in a small fight between him and the other Marked men, well, fight wasn't the correct word, it was more of a bloodbath which ended in a few short seconds.

       This caused a question to arise- What was the reasoning for him to return to this desolate place of only hate and pain?

       One man by the name of Ulysses,

       He'd never admit it out loud- and if anyone ever asked he'd drop them into a pit of Deathclaws- but something about Ulysses has got him curious. He wasn't certain what it was that caused his curiosity- maybe it was his,  _uh_ , interesting philosophy, or his wordy way of speaking and never giving him a straight answer to a question without turning it into a philosophical debate that would last _hours_ \- whatever the reason was, it would always bring him back to the Divide.

        Now the dust had settled, the enemies were dead, and Malcolm moved on. He didn't look twice at the carnage he'd caused, stepping over a body part as he stashed his mini-gun on his back, over the image of the old world flag on his back. A gift, from Ulysses, that Malcolm now wore wherever he went. Malcolm had modified it by strapping armour to it, made himself into something akin to a walking tank, yet he hadn't changed anything about the overcoat.

        Malcolm glanced around, catching the barest of light from one of the crumbling skyscrapers, and the shadow cast could belong only to Ulysses. He groaned behind his mask and trudged on, climbing up crumbled remains of buildings and steep ridges. Rex barked as he followed after Malcolm, barking up at him when they came up to a steep in climb that the dog couldn't follow. "Easy boy." He eased and picked the dog, thankful he had his helmet on that protected him from cyber-dog slobber.

        "Just me," He announced his presence, wobbling on his feet a little.

       "Don't expect me to do this more than once," Malcolm grunted to the cyber-hound as Rex licked at his helmet. He struggled a bit before he managed to climb up. "Hate you," Malcolm growled when he roughly put Rex down, hearing him whine as he walked past Rex.

      "You're always a challenge to find," Malcolm commented to the other man, sliding his weapon off his back and onto the floor, next to Ulysses. "Good thing I'm sharp-eyed eh?"

        "The Divide provides greater challenges, boasting that you've found me is meaningless," Ulysses spoke, watching from the corner of his eye as Malcolm stripped off his added on armour from the waist up, putting the addons on the floor. Rex barked and walked over to Ulysses, lying down next to him.

        "Oh, you wound me." Malcolm exaggerated by placing a hand over where his hearth should lie, faking hurt. "And  _you_ called _me_ heartless." Malcolm noticed the small twinge of a smile on Ulysses and grinned behind his helmet. Malcolm loosened the straps and pulled off the other sleeve he had strapped armour to, letting lose a small groan when the weight was relieved off his shoulders. It revealed scars, some old, most of them new- signs of his struggle to survive in the wastes. His right bicep was bandaged, the bandages dirtied by blood and dirt and other bodily fluids that belonged to the deadly enemies of his. "Ever told you, you look prettier when smiling?" He asked, walking over and sitting down next to Ulysses.

         "..." Ulysses didn't respond, turning his head to glare at Malcolm. "I dread to think of what lurks in the shadows of your mind, Courier." He momentarily froze, acutely aware of one of Malcolm's vulnerabilities- his blindsight.

         Malcolm laughed to himself, his helmet releasing a small hissing sound when he took it off and set it down on his lap. "Your loss." Malcolm shrugged, turning his head to look at Ulysses. "Still look pretty 'though." He gave a massive childish grin, not at all what someone would expect from a man of such rugged appearance, whose face was marked with a plethora of surgical scars and signs of age. But even then, he looked tired. Malcolm's pale blue eye shined in the light of the fire as if it had seen too much. His right one was squinted- hiding the milky white eye that no longer served a purpose, and his face contorted to show a small amount of pain, the scared over indent on his head unmissable-where it partly destroyed a carefully cut design into his white hair. After his brain's lovely encounter with a bullet Malcolm's eye hasn't been the same since. "Real pretty." He teased Ulysses starring, pulling out a rag to clean off his helmet.

         Ulysses shook his head, feeling heat on his cheeks he was thankful for his dark skin. "You are as blind as the two-headed bear, tearing at its eyes when two heads disagree," Ulysses spoke and returned back to his work. "In time, weaken-facti sunt quasi cinis Vetus verbum est...or follow the shadowed road of the bull." Ulysses spoke that not-Spanish language that made Malcolm's brain stutter in it's attempt to translate the language.

        "Oh, cm'on." Malcolm groaned at his half-understood language, reaching for his bag and pulling out bandages. "Whatever happened 'bout 'Don't joke 'bout half-blind couriers'?" Rex barked as if to give his own input, laying his head on Ulysses' leg. He looked up at Malcolm with his best puppy eyes, whining softly. Malcolm rolled his eye and pulled out something wrapped in a rag, unwrapping it Malcolm tossed a few pieces of strange meat at Rex. The hound happily caught the meat, scarfing it down with record time. "Don't really know what's in the thing," Malcolm stated offhandedly, putting the wrapped up meat back into his bag. "'Don't honestly wanna know what's in it either."

         "History has proven ignorance to be an illness," The now content Rex settled back down next to Ulysses, resting his head and paw on the dark-skinned man's leg. Ulysses glanced at the cyber-hound, who stuck out his tongue and panted happily. "Old World was infected,"

         "It's illness to you, bliss to me." Malcolm shrugged and began unwrapping his bandages, revealing a nasty wound. "Damn abominations- them Deathclaws, real ugly-" Malcolm hissed as he felt his wound throb, "Ugly fuckers, thank the higher powers someone got enough brains to blow the Master's out." Malcolm lightly touched the wound only to get blood on his fingers.

        Malcolm attempted to wrap his wound with bandages, growling to himself ever so often when he failed. More than once. Giving up when the pain came near the unbearable point, he contemplated asking for help as he watched the man. Eventually, he came to a conclusion and was forced to swallow his pride. "Uh, mind helping?" The taller man avoided eye contact, scratching the back of his head.

          Ulysses looked at Malcolm, finding it strange to see the man so...bashful about asking for help- which was a surprise on its own. He looked at the wound that he could see, to say it wasn't pretty looking would have been an understatement. "Have anything to clean it?" Ulysses asked, putting down the needle. He watched the man shuffle a bit to face him and showed him the inside of his arm, and now he could see the full extent of his wound. Having known him for longer than a day, it was a surprise Malcolm was even taking care of it.

         "This 'out to work," Malcolm pulled out a half-filled bottle of whiskey. "Kill's off everything." The man grinned and pulled off the cap, watching Ulysses crinkle his nose as he passed him the bottle.

         "Kills everything, so you put it in yourself." Ulysses took the bottle as he shifted closer to the man, pouring a little into his palm.

         "Yeah," Malcolm laughed to himself, seizing up and hissing when Ulysses gently washed his wound. "Fuck..." He groaned, clenching his fist tightly as his blind eye completely closed. "Hurts worse than gettin' shot in the head did," He groaned roughly, hearing Rex whine. He watched Ulysses clean his wound, thankful that at least he had gotten it stitched up, unlike last time.

         "Stimpacks exist," Ulysses started, carefully washing the wound, noting that, at least, it was not infected. "You're good at making them," He added, "Why not use them?" It was idiotic, how Malcolm chose not to use them, keeping them like some form of a hoarder.

         "Could need them for something worse." Malcolm countered, lips curling back a bit in a snarl. "Like when a Deathclaw's chewing my leg." An unlikely outcome, but after being shot in the head he wouldn't be surprised if it happened. "Or, heck, another bullet in my head- or,"

         Ulysses allowed Malcolm to theorize and come up with descriptions of injuries, each one more outlandish and unlikely than the last. He hummed lightly, finishing up cleaning and beginning to wrap the wound. It was simple to just listen to the man as he talked and talked and talked...Ulysses glanced up to see Malcolm looking at him with some form of fondness in his eye.

          Conversation flowed freely through them, Malcolm had a certain charm to him that allowed him to get almost anything out of anyone. "So then," Malcolm snickered a bit at a memory. "I had to convince my own brain to come back to my own body. And 'know, that my brain's an ass!" He laughed, managing to bring out a light chuckle out of Ulysses.

         "Is that why you are despised by most of the wasteland?" Ulysses question, handing back the leftover bandages.

        "Oh please," Malcolm scoffed, "Fairly certain it's closer to 3/4." He stashed away his bandages, sighing as he leaned back on the palms of his hands, staring up through the cracks in the roof. "Wonder how Goodspring is doing." He mused to himself. "Been spending too much time over at Jacob's town...when I'm not, yea know, 'tempting to keep the Mohave in order." Malcolm breathed a heavy sigh. "Still can't believe I'm trusting Benny to be a left-hand man...Or that stupidity extends to Caesar and Kimball shaking hands."

         "Hm," Ulysses hummed, going back to work. He couldn't imagine what it would be like, carrying the entire world on your shoulders like Atlas. Yet Malcolm somehow made it look easy, "The Nightkin have a different kind of illness. One with a feasible cure, yet far out of reach."

        "Ain't that far." Malcolm shrugged. "We've been using Nightstalker brains as a basis. So far, it's alright." Malcolm briefly explained what they were working on, roughly gesturing with his hands. "'Course, would help if me an' Keen wasn't butting heads so much. With him, gettin' them brains is a little difficult. 'Specially since I eradicated that Nightstalker nest." He sighed, grumbling a few curses under his breath. Malcolm looked at the flag, "Didn't think you'd like it."

          Ulysses raised an eyebrow, "Why is that? Malcolm?" He watched Malcolm shiver slightly- that was unusual.

          "'Cause I was certain that you'd shoot me in the head the moment you saw it." Malcolm shrugged. "Or shoved that little fancy flag pole through my chest. Wouldn't be the first time." If the scars littering his body were anything to go from, one would assume him, to tell the truth.

         "The Mohave didn't faze you, the Divide couldn't break you. Following assumptions..." Ulysses gave a pause, either to think over his words or make himself seem wiser- Malcolm would never be certain. "You have proven your worth."

         Malcolm looked at him curiously, tilting his head to a side. His eye shined with calculation, the same he'd get when plotting. "Oh?" He gave a throaty chuckle and smirked slyly. "And in what ways have ah-" He positively purred and leaned in, his breath ghosting over the man's cheek. "'Prooven my worth?" Malcolm's hand crept to hover over Ulysses' hip, a silent plea for contact. He felt Ulysses shiver and slide up closer to him-

        The space between them was reduced to nothing in the face of need, their hands roaming over the other's bodies fuelled by desperation. Their minds were swimming with euphoria, bliss- any other words used to describe happiness-  _Heaven_. Ulysses' hand slithered up around Malcolm's neck, the other burying itself in the braided section of the man's head and gripping tight so as to angle his head. To deepen their kiss- one full of gnashing teeth and uncontrolled flame.

        Malcolm groaned and pulled Ulysses into his lap, squeezing and kneading what part of Ulysses got under palm of him. Taking a quick nip at Ulysses bottom lip, he was rewarded by a groan that sent shivers down his spine. He felt the pressure on his scalp increase, the grind of Ulysses's body against his this time caused a groan to surface. Ulysses retaliated by biting Malcolm's own lip, worrying it between his teeth and grinding roughly against him. A coppery taste in their mouths told that Ulysses had drawn blood, but neither of them seemed to care. They would have continued for longer, but the burn in their lungs was a reason for them to part.

        "Fuck..." Malcolm panted against Ulysses' lips, their foreheads resting together. His tongue darted out to lick at his lip, tasting his own blood. "...Missed you," He stared Ulysses in the eye, "Been gone too long." He admitted as his hand traveled up to cradle the back of Ulysses' head, tangling in his braids. Ulysses gave no indication for his stance on the matter, but the man's eyes gave away the answer without him speaking a word. And so did his actions. Instead, Ulysses guided Malcolm into another kiss, this one far softer than the one before.

          The taste of whiskey overwhelmed the usual taste of Malcolm's mouth, but it was not enough to make Ulysses regret kissing him, so he guided their kiss into a dance rather than a battle. He ran his tongue along his teeth, licked at the roof of Malcolm's mouth and intertwined their tongues together. Malcolm shuddered against him, whining lowly. Ulysses smirked against Malcolm's lips, proud in himself for turning the  _Unus Diabolus luscus_  into putty in his hands. Oh, what would the Legion think of him- if they could only see him now? One of their most hated and _respected_ and feared associates submitting to a traitor of the Legion, a _profligate_  of a failed frumentarius.

      . . .To Ulysses Malcolm looked so pretty like this- writhing against him with blood in his mouth and panting so sweetly, clutching Ulysses like a lifeline. For all of his bravado and flirty remarks, it was almost hilarious how quickly the larger man would submit at the slightest touch, a soft caress or the brush of his lips could make Malcolm kill- A prospect of something  _more_ , would Ulysses so desire, would be enough for Malcolm to turn the world to ash without a second thought.

      But Ulysses no longer was a frumentarius of Ceaser. And there was no reason for him to spark the flames.

      They parted much slower this time, resting their foreheads together. Malcolm was left breathless from the ordeal, blood rushing loudly in his ears. The hand around his neck slid down his shoulder, nails lightly scratching his skin on their journey to his chest. Malcolm watched with what vision he still possessed, as Ulysses' hand came to rest over his _'hearth'_.  Thumping wildly in his chest, there was little doubt about Ulysses being able to  _feel_ Old World technology sputtering in his chest- like a drunk attempting to get home. Those nails left white marks on his tan skin, fingers brushing over old scars.

       Malcolm made a small rumble in his throat, grasping Ulysses hand by the wrist. He brought it up to his face, and, without breaking eye contact with the man kissed his palm. The muscles in his arm twitched and fingers curled in a natural position around his jaw, a far cry from the reaction a couple of months ago-Malcolm could still recall the outburst. . .and the wounds that followed it, 

        _His lips brushed the man's palm, a murmur dying on his tongue. All the sudden a hand was wrapped around his, chocking, suffocating him. They had tumbled around, brain cut off from oxygen, he'd had no idea what the man had spoken, merely that it had resulted with a knife at his throat and his own pistol at the man's head._

"Diliget te. . ." Malcolm said in a slow and hushed voice,releasing his hand, a small smile gracing his features.

       Adrenaline having passed the two settled down in the other's embrace, merely enjoying the other's presence.

**Author's Note:**

> "facti sunt quasi cinis Vetus verbum est"- Become the ashes of the Old World  
> "Diliget te"- Love you
> 
> Soooo peeps, what ya think? I might continue this and make it into a an eventual smut thingy-ma-bob or write something else (Probably with Vulpes Inculta or Joshua Graham) Who knows?


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